Samhain, After Yeats

Samhain 2012

Behind his mask

He watches.

Is interested in discovering what drives others

to seek power at work or in love.

He may be ready.

Ready to delve into the gnarlish

world of hidden, forlorn feelings.

He knows that is the place that he often avoids.

Now, however, he is willing to overcome

his resistance. And yours, even if you’re not

comfortable with the thought

of what you both might encounter there in those

Cthonic gated communities. Those catacombs in which

To wander among the ghosts of shadows.

Copses of corpses vertical and murmuring

Through their postures about ancient

Crannies of the kundalini where the quiet

Is a violin bereft of bow. From the bonfire

Of bovine bones rises as vapors

above the mansions that house our fathers and

mothers. Whose vapors drift as dreams

unharnessed and hateful about not

Healing. Which every morning settles on manicured lawns

Beneath which roots itch: each of them, every one.

Dew of which dreams make the grass blades pretty with

Fractals of projective fantasies.

He/You are on the right track. Which zeroes

The X/Y axis that paradoxes the paradigm

Into quadrants of skillsets to plant power and

harvest power. Afore-mentioned

torque of agriculture.

Into the red clay and piedmont

sand of his nativity. Seed of a birth which

meets you at the cross and throws dice for

the soul’s own garments.

Which lie strewn about the scene.

Grief of which peels the bulbed onions of eyes from

which all bitter tears flow. Which flow creates the rivers

of movies that spool the mind,

its ruts and tunnels runnelling through maps of sadness.

And joys. Racked up in surrenders diasporic in scope

And scale. Big ol’ sticky face, betrayed by

infantile oralities that march as toy soldiers in the dreams

Of an abandoned boy:

what goes in, what goes out.

He will surely feel relief

once you know the truth.

No triumph in it. No defeat.

He holds a palm, into which he stares

A stigmata, to his heart.

As he fears the pulsing orb not up

To the things that must be known,

Much less the things that must be done.